


Snow Day

by shadowolfhunter



Category: Justified
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-09 08:31:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowolfhunter/pseuds/shadowolfhunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another transport goes messily wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“You can’t go to sleep.” Rachel reaches over and pokes Raylan hard.

“OW.” He moans, giving the vowel sound that extra bit of wobbly pathos which Rachel’s sure has women throwing themselves at his feet in droves.

Right here, right now, she doesn’t care. He needs to stay awake. They both need to stay with the program or they are in serious trouble.

Raylan’s hurt his neck, and the crash has messed up his left shoulder some. He’s better than he was, because his arm’s no longer dangling at a very strange angle, all floppy and useless.

Good thing one of us paid attention in mandatory first aid training, huh!

Rachel used the two triangular bandages from the first aid kit to support and immobilize his arm, there’s no surgical collar in the first aid kit but she manages to improvise something from some duct tape and a folded newspaper.

Sunday edition.

Rachel scowls at Raylan’s joke, this really isn’t funny. She isn’t even going to begin to pretend that her badly twisted knee doesn’t hurt like hell. That they are not trapped in an old shack, miles from where they were t-boned by the truck belonging to their fugitive’s brother in law, that it’s not twelve below zero and she really hates the cold weather. That Raylan isn’t ever so slightly spacey and is having some problems with blurred vision.

She can’t pretend. She has never been a pretender.

Tiny twist of bitterness. Joe married her because she was calm, logical, focused, practical Rachel. She knows that now.

She wishes she could actually manage to be calm, logical, focused and practical about this revelation. Or even this situation.

She can’t. She wants to scream and cry and throw things… because just once she doesn’t want to be the adult in these situations. The only trouble is, Raylan has somehow managed to insinuate himself into her lap. He’s lying in her arms. She can’t do any of those things because he’s lying there, and he’s surprisingly heavy despite his willowy build, if she moves too much she’s scared she’ll hurt him.

“You had better be pretending to be asleep.” She growls. A little menace. Not much. Menace with Raylan really never works. He’s completely impervious to menace.

He cracks open an eye and stares at her. She’d be happier if he opened both eyes, but right now, one will do.

He’s shivering a little, but then so is she, him lying in her lap is warming her up ever so slightly.

“Huh.” He says.

Not much of a word, but it doesn’t seem slurred.

“Open the other eye,” she says.

“If I do that, I see two of you.”

“You’got both eyes open, I know yo’ain’t sleepin’.” She lays it on a little thick.

“Two Rachels. I don’t hardly keep up with one.” He responds. He opens both eyes.

However many times she tells herself that she really shouldn’t and couldn’t, and can’t and won’t and it would be really really bad if she did; she finds herself diving into those heavenly hazel depths.

He has beautiful eyes. They go perfectly with the beautiful, exotic, rest of him.

She didn’t just say that.

At least it wasn’t out loud.

She’s met Arlo. But apparently Raylan favours his mother. There’s a rumour that a couple of generations back there is some French aristocracy in Raylan’s bloodline. Which would explain Raylan’s exotic good looks.

There’s always rumours though, and that one may just be as cock-eyed and off-base as the other ones, but the romantic in Rachel would like to think that at least is true.

The hat still doesn’t fit, but it’s squarely on top of her head. Something about heat loss through the top of her head, and shared bodily warmth, which partly explains why Raylan has managed to somehow cover her lap with his body. He’s snuggled against her, they have his winter coat spread out over as much of both of them as it will cover.

Their captors didn’t even bother to lock them in. She can’t walk without support, and Raylan’s injuries rather preclude him from helping her.

They are overdue by at least three hours, but they are safe, one of their captors had somehow grown a conscience, so they have some bottles of water. They still have the first aid kit, and there’s some Tylenol. Not that Raylan can have any, but it’s good to know it’s there.

She knows Art’s gonna be mad. She’ll deal with that later. _Right now_ she holds that thought in her mind, _right now_ she needs Tim and/or Nelson, and maybe Art to get them out of there. They may not be in immediate danger, but it can’t be good them in this cold place in the depths of winter, all banged up like they are.

Raylan rubs his cheek against her arm, there’s this tired look on his face, and the suggestion of lines of pain that weren’t there half an hour ago. His eyes are closed.

“Not sleeping,” he says. And she wants to believe him, but she also knows that if anything happens to him now, here, she would never forgive herself.

She hates herself for making him open his eyes, because the lines of pain settle deeper, but he rallies. She bends her head, and gently kisses his temple. Spontaneous, just pure comfort, she hates that he’s in pain, and she can’t give him anything to take his pain away.

She remembers the last time she saw that weary, pained look on his face. When he was thinking out loud about how he hoped that Lyndsey liked him for himself. The trail that lead him to a van full of poultry told him otherwise.

She gives him another gentle kiss. He deserves it, sometimes she feels as though no one knows how to love him, and receiving no love, he’s unsure of how to give it himself.

His eyes open slowly and he looks up at her. There’s a softness in his gaze that she could have put down to the side effects of his injuries, but she realizes that’s not true, for one pure moment she sees Raylan Givens without his defenses.

He’s lowered his guard for her. It may be this one time only. She feels humbled by the experience. This awkward, angry, beautiful man drops his defenses for her.

Just the vague hint of a smile crosses his face, and she gently eases his body a little closer.

They settle to wait, just watching each other.


	2. Convalescence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raylan and Rachel are pretty banged up.

Raylan looks at himself in the mirror and winces. Mentally. Physical wincing not recommended. The pain is mostly a dull ache all down his left side from head to knee that makes him feel sluggish and snappish. His left arm is in a weird kind of brace which runs from his knuckles to his shoulder, bent at the elbow and supported by a sling which keeps it pinned to his body. 

It sucks. But since the doctor was so reluctant to release him and Raylan knows that he would have gone crazy if he had had to stay a minute longer, so he’s made a few concessions along the way. The sling, for one, the staying off his feet, the only doing paperwork (getting the doctor to agree to that… well maybe Raylan stretched the truth a little there), but it’s the collar that’s really giving him the hard time.

Raylan hates the collar. He knows he’s only got to get through another day of the collar, but even so, shaving in difficult, the thing looks ridiculous, and Raylan feels like he’s beginning to get the hang-dog look of the professional stooge. The jokes have been unrelenting for the last two days.

He eases his tee shirt over his head, one armed, Rachel has already kindly pulled the left sleeve to his heavy padded shirt through so it’s on the inside, less awkward and stupid to have it flapping around, that goes on next, and he tries to pull his top coat on. This is a lot less easy.

Car horn sounds.

Dammit. He puts his hat on his head, tries not to remember how cute Rachel looks in it, even if it doesn’t fit her, grabs his wallet and keys, and tries once again to get his coat over his injured shoulder.

[][][][][][][][]

Rachel fixes Tim with a glare. “Just don’t give him a hard time, okay.”

Tim smirks, but his smirk dies a little when her glare doesn’t lighten up. “He’s hurting.” She raises her eyebrows, and Tim is absolutely not proof against Rachel’s glare of doom.

“So are you.” He points out, not unfairly.

Rachel turns away to stare out of the windscreen. “Raylan was driving, so he was on the side the truck hit.”

Tim nods once, as though that was enough, and Rachel leaves it. She’s not absolutely sure why she feels this need to protect Raylan. He’s more than capable of looking after himself. But she was there when they got themselves discharged from the hospital, and Tim and Art didn’t see the obvious pain that Raylan was in simply putting a shirt on over his bandages. They haven’t seen his shoulder, which took the brunt of the inward force, or any of the bruising covered by his clothing, and she’s damn sure Art would send him home if he knew.

Tim leans on the horn again, “where is he?” Rachel glances across and sees Raylan coming towards them, he’s trying to get his coat over his injured shoulder and she turns back to Tim with a raised eyebrow.

Tim rolls his eyes a little, but he gets out of the truck to help Raylan with his coat.

[][][][][][][][]

Raylan’s a little surprised when Tim gets out to help him, and then feels guilty, because even though Tim has been mocking him for the last two days, the guy is a friend and has come through for Raylan several times, most recently this latest disaster.

And he’s not to know how much Raylan is actually hurting, mostly because Raylan isn’t admitting that to himself.

Basically, Raylan is one big bruise. And it hurts.

He allows himself a moment to feel absolutely pathetic, as he slides awkwardly into the back seat of the Yukon.

“Morning.” He keeps it short, not wanting either of them to hear the hitch in his breathing as he fumbles the seat belt across his body.

Rachel isn’t fooled for a moment. She pulls down the sunvisor, pretends to check her hair and makeup, angles it carefully so that she can see Raylan’s face. He’s managed to get the seat belt sorted out, he looks up and their eyes meet.

Her breath catches, that’s the second time he’s dropped his defenses. She’s not sure if it’s because he’s injured and his defense lines are weaker now, or… the possibility of something deeper makes her heart jump.

Doesn’t matter how many times she tells herself no, tells herself that he is trouble, how impossible it would ever be to fix his problems, how Harlan will eventually take him… or one of his bad decisions will come back to destroy him, she cares about him.

Seeing him vulnerable makes her realize that under that shell, he’s as human and mortal and fallible as the next man, that he’s fought a battle his whole life not to be his father, and will continue fighting that battle every day, to prove it to himself.

She gets a tiny glimpse of what his father’s death might have really meant, deep down inside, and how maybe she and Art and Tim may have made his pain worse.

And dammit this might just be fanciful and she’s making up scenarios in her head…

“…Rachel??”

She pulls herself out of her speculative funk with a start, realizing that Tim has been speaking to her. Her eyes catch Raylan’s in the backseat, and he’s grinning, but his eyes are gentle and kind… Heavenly hazel…

“Coffee? Muffins?” Tim waves a hand, “any of this ringing any bells with you??”

“Coffee, and one of the bran muffins.” Rachel pulls herself together sufficiently to recognize the car park of one of their chosen coffee shops.

Tim pulls his wallet out of the centre console, “you two wait here, talk amongst yourselves or something…” he grins at them, but the speculative look he shoots as he turns towards the front door is purely for Rachel. She draws breath, about to call him back, he waves a hand again. “I got this.”

They’re alone. “So...” Says Rachel.

Raylan looks at her. “So?”

“How bad is it?”

It says quite a lot for their relationship, and the maybe changing circumstances that he doesn’t even try to lie. Or maybe that’s just because he’s feeling bad and feeling out-numbered and wants her to be on his side.

“Bad.” He admits quietly.

“Scale of one to ten?”

“Eight.” He pauses, looks up sheepishly, “maybe nine” he admits.

“Raylan!”

“Rachel.”

“You should be at home in bed.”

“Nah.” He brushes it off, but his defenses slip again and she can see this look in his eyes that says he’s touched by her concern, but doesn’t really know how to express it.

She wonders how many women it took to put that look in his eyes. How many people in the life of Raylan Givens have ever really and truly been on his side no matter what?

She figures it might be best to let it drop for now. The very last thing she wants to do is push him into admitting something emotional and have him shut down this… whatever this is.

He recognizes the moment, and understands what it truly is… this thing, it’s tentative, and tiny baby steps, so he lets it lie. But he cops to it, honestly, and she reads it in both his face and body language.

The driver’s door opens and they both jump, “hey…” Tim hands over a tray with coffees, and two bags of muffins to Rachel. “Can you hold these…”

“…next stop the office.”

Tim jumps in and Rachel goes back to her thoughts.


	3. Movie Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rachel lets Tim in on the facts, and they all enjoy a movie night.

Rachel was positive that the last three hours had been the longest in the history of time. Raylan went out to lunch. Less lunch than a doctor’s appointment that he refused to let Tim drive him to.

An hour later he came back, sat down and picked up a file, and started reading.

He’s still reading, or pretending to, he hasn’t said a word to anybody. He’s doing his best to blend into the background, and he’s still sporting the soft foam collar they gave him to protect his neck.

She knows something is seriously off, because there isn’t a coffee in sight. He hasn’t stirred near the coffee pot, and when Nelson called out for orders fifteen minutes ago, Raylan stayed quiet.

She gives him a long look.

He senses her looking, or maybe he just wants to make eye contact. She’s not sure. Normally he would just trundle his chair backwards until he was right next to her, but this isn’t one of those moments. Instead of turning his head to look at her, he turns his whole body on the chair.

She frowns, reading between the lines he’s had enough. He looks tired, and snappish and she can almost feel the anger seething beneath the surface.

She’s finished with her paperwork, and since she’s on the injured rosta too, she figures they could legitimately call it a day. He’s not actually angry, unless it’s about the collar, he’s just reached his limit.

“Home?” she says.

For a moment she thinks he’s going to try to be super-cool about it, to reassert his alpha male need to be in charge of his own destiny, but then he says “Yeah.”

She gets to her feet, positions her crutches, and swing/limps her way to Art’s door, tells him she’s getting out of here and taking Raylan with her, and Tim’s going to drive them, quells whatever smart-ass remark Tim was about to make with a look, and then chivies Raylan to his feet.

Somehow she manages to drop a quiet word in Tim’s ear. They’re all going back to Raylan’s. She just has this feeling that he needs his friends but doesn’t know how to ask them.

Before they get as far as Raylan’s place, which is a step above the miserable rat hole above the bar, Rachel’s already implanted the idea of a bucket of chicken and biscuits, with some nice greens to go with, and movie night. Raylan’s face actually lights up at the thought, and since Tim catches a look at Raylan’s expression in the rearview mirror, Rachel doesn’t even have to push that hard. She knows that Tim won’t let an injured friend down.

Raylan’s apartment has level access, which in the circumstances is good, Rachel really isn’t too fond of the crutch/limp/swing routine over more than a couple of stairs. Her plan is going to take some finesse, but thankfully Raylan’s couch is old, and kinda small, and Raylan gives in surprisingly easily when she suggests that they relocate his tv to the end of his bed, she can stretch her leg out and support it, he can rest, and Tim doesn’t mind sitting on the bed.

The tv is easily relocated, it’s not particularly large or particularly heavy, Raylan got it in one of those cheap store deals, so Tim manages the set up without any difficulty. A knock at the door says food’s arrived. Raylan’s in the bathroom changing into something more comfortable, so Tim goes to get the door.

Rachel had hoped that Tim would grow a clue as to how much pain Raylan was in, but Tim’s arrival in the doorway just as Raylan is exiting the bathroom with his wife-beater around his neck, and his good arm, asking Rachel if she wouldn’t mind pulling it down.

“Jeezus!” Without the shirt, Tim can see the bruising around Raylan’s shoulder that isn’t covered by the sling. It’s actually black, there’s slightly less bruising down his ribcage, it disappears past the waistband of Raylan’s sleep pants, and Tim has no doubt that it’s bad, but he can’t tear his eyes away from the horror of that black bruise. He hands the chicken off to Rachel and goes over to Raylan. Very gently pulls the undershirt down avoiding touching Raylan’s battered shoulder. “Does Art know it’s this bad?”

Numbly, Raylan shakes his head. Looks over to Rachel, knowing that she kinda fixed this, letting Tim know without breaking a confidence. People care about him, this is a strange new set of variables, and Raylan was never much of a mathematician but he can calculate this. Not sure he can quite articulate it, but he lets Tim help him into bed, they both organize the pillows so his back and injured shoulder are supported, then Tim goes and gets plates from the kitchen, and Rachel rifles through some DVDs, and they settle in to dinner and the Avengers’ movie which prompts a weird conversation about superheroes, which quickly degenerates into the Batman v Superman argument. Two big bags of micro-wave popcorn later, they’re on The Dark Knight Rises, that Tim just happened to have in his trunk, together with his sleeping bag. Rachel has changed into one of Raylan’s warm flannel check shirts, and borrowed a pair of soft fluffy white socks that may or may not have belonged to Winona, Raylan’s sinking down a little into his nest of pillows, wondering quietly how he can get them to stay the night because he really doesn’t want to lose this feeling.

Even with the nasty white bandage around her knee, he’s not too tired or too sore to fail to appreciate that Rachel has nice legs.

She pats his hand, and he blushes a little that she caught him looking.

He’s warm and comfortable, sinking slowly down, with a vague sense of tilting to the right. His right cheek encounters something warm and firm, he tries to keep his eyes open, but they droop closed as the stadium falls away beneath the players.

Just before he falls asleep, a small hand cards gently through his hair, the fingers scritch his scalp a little and he makes a soft contented noise.


	4. Taking It Slow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still dealing with the aftermath of the crash, Raylan and Rachel slowly gravitate towards one another.

It’s three more days before Raylan finally loses the collar, and not a moment too soon as far as he’s concerned. He’s still trying to process movie night, but he realizes that somehow both Rachel and Tim have slipped past all his defenses. 

It’s the point at which he realizes that this is actually new territory for him, that he’s startled. He’s had friends before. People he’s had a drink or two with, or people he’s dug coal with (he grimaces at that one, to the extent that Tim leans over the partition and asks very quietly with one eye on Art’s office door if he wants another pain pill), even people that he went to school with and drive ugly little gremlin cars, he even knows there are many subtle levels of trust and friendship. This is virgin territory.

Tim plants a glass of water on Raylan’s desk, reaches into Raylan’s pen drawer for the little orange dispensary bottle, reads the instructions and taps out two.

“Here.” He drops the pills into Raylan’s right hand. Raylan stares at the little round white tablets and can’t quite decide if Tim is being an asshole or Tim is taking care of him, (there’s a third option that Tim is an asshole taking care of him but Raylan’s brain is feeling a little overloaded at this point). He is sure that he should make a snappy comeback, but the clock on the wall says it’s painkiller time, and Raylan’s deal with the doctor includes taking all provided medication when he’s supposed to. He’s already pushed his luck which is why he was stuck with the foam collar for an additional three days, and he really wants out of the sling before too much longer.

He could be an ungracious asshole here, or he could let Tim know that he’s grateful, and here they are back at the point where Rachel and Tim tried to let him know that they were there for him after Arlo died. He remembers anger, sorrow and confusion, and lashing out, but this is a whole other situation.

“Thanks,” he says quietly.

“Y’welcome.” Tim says. No smartass, just a simple statement.

Raylan looks up, Tim’s eyes hold sympathy and concern, and Raylan realizes a little guiltily that he has seen that look in Tim’s eyes before, directed at him but he didn’t want to know about it back then. He can’t really say anything, so he gives Tim a little nod, like he did once before back when they were tracking Jamie Berglund and a corrupt guard from the prison.

Tim seems pleased at that, and Raylan notes the difference in Tim’s response to Raylan’s response. He realizes that Tim has almost as many barriers and defenses as Raylan does, and this dance they are doing is going places for both of them that they’ve never really been. It’s odd, and Raylan is certain he is going to mess up some time and they will be back where they were, but he kinda likes it so he hopes that it won’t happen.

And somewhere in the back of his mind is a van full of poultry.

Rachel limps over to them, she’s down to one crutch now, but that doesn’t stop Raylan or Tim fetching things for her. Coffee mostly.

“Lunch.” She says. And Raylan starts to reach for his wallet. “No, not here, we’re going out.”

“We are?” says Tim.

“Well I’m sick of these four walls, Raylan’s been making faces all morning,” Raylan is a little surprised at that, he hadn’t thought he was that transparent, “and you have to be climbing the walls by now with all that sugar and E numbers you’ve been packing away.”

Tim gives her a look, “cheese strings have plenty of nutriment in them.” He says with dignity.

Rachel rolls her eyes. “We’re going out.”

Tim is the designated driver, because Rachel may have lost a crutch but she’s still on the injured rosta with Raylan, and can’t drive until she’s cleared. Raylan feels a bit selfish, he processes that feeling awkwardly, but is still kinda glad he’s not the only walking wounded. They pass his town car sitting forlornly in its space, there’s a layer of dust on it, Raylan notices. It’s when they pass the remains of the Yukon that they barely walked away from that Raylan flinches.

Shit. He closes his eyes, grits his teeth and prays that Tim and Rachel didn’t notice that, as he forces his legs to continue movement in the direction of Tim’s Yukon which is parked just beyond the destroyed vehicle.

Rachel sees Raylan flinch, and it’s not exactly the work of a rocket scientist to figure out that it’s the remains of their vehicle which set off a reaction. She remembers when he was shot, saving Loretta from herself, and Tim dragging him out of the office. Raylan would have denied it to his dying breath, but he was unsettled by being shot, and his difficulties afterwards were as much about the psychological damage as the pain in his side.

She notices something, Raylan defaults to the back seat. He can’t drive, but shotgun is something that they have all fought over at sometime or another, only this time it seems as though Raylan isn’t playing.

Tim doesn’t seem to have noticed, but with Tim Rachel is never quite sure. Tim has a far sharper mind than people normally credit him with, mostly because he’s young and was a soldier. The image of the dumb grunt is something that Tim sometimes plays to perfection. Rachel knows that he does it, and that it amuses him, but she rather needs him not to be playing it right now.

They settle in, have a brief argument over where they are going, Tim is feeling the need for pizza and Raylan wants chicken. The fact that Raylan really, really wants chicken says quite a lot to Rachel about his emotional state. She throws Tim a look, and Tim alters his demand to something wrap-related that they can get at Raylan’s favourite chicken place, and there’s something for Rachel too.

She wonders about her own emotional state. She can still feel the warmth from his cheek resting against her shoulder, the surprising softness of his hair, clean and silky beneath her fingers, the little moan he made in his sleep when she gently stroked his head. He’s never been that open before, she’s not sure what it means, but she thinks she means that she’s falling for him.


	5. Many A Slip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rachel comes to Raylan's aid and defence when Tim is injured in a shoot out

Rachel is going to kill someone. She knows it. She is equally sure that it is going to be someone in her own office, and very probably her boss. She knows that Art sometimes has these blind spots about things, she is well aware that he says things that if he had thought about it that tad bit longer, he would have found a new way to say the thing on his mind.

But this is a new level of something that she really doesn’t care to contemplate. Art is angry, she gets that, he is beside himself with worry, but right now his worry has gotten out ahead of his brain and he’s just made everything a hundred thousand times worse.

She is worried about Tim, he’s badly injured, and he’s still unconscious, but he’s being looked after by a wonderfully capable staff, and there is nothing that she can do personally for him right now.

Raylan is breaking apart.

He’s been in that chair by Tim’s bedside for almost twenty-four hours, he hasn’t spoken, or moved, or even looked up. The doctors want to sedate him, but he’s an armed, angry and devastated man, and they are talking about extreme measures that are just going to make everything much, much worse.

And Art’s apparently agreeing with them.

Rachel scowls. She speaks Raylan these days. She guesses she always did, but since the crash when they held each other together and stayed alive out of sheer stubbornness, they’ve been getting closer. They’ve even been out drinking together. Not quite a date, but just spending time together, it’s like the date to make a date to date.

She’s unsure, he’s unsure, but they seem more sure together. It’s nice.

Raylan doesn’t do feelings, he tells her stories, most of the time the stories are not even about him or his past, except they sort of are. Perhaps they’re less stories, more allegories and urban legends.

Some of them have been about cars and crashes. She doesn’t need to be a psychologist to work out that Raylan’s feeling some kind of anxiety when he’s forced to get behind the wheel of one of their SUVs. He happily drives the town car, but then he always did prefer it, it’s booked in his name and it’s his ride of choice, but a couple of times he’s been pushed into a Yukon and he can’t wait to palm the keys off onto someone else.

Now Tim and Raylan have got themselves into a mess, and Tim’s hurt and Raylan isn’t dealing.

She scowls at the doctor. “I’m going in there and there is nothing you can do about it.” She says snappily. “I am not going to give him something to drink that you’ve spiked, so you can put that idea out of your head straight away. I am not going to lie to him, and you are going to give me some time.”

She reserves some of her glare for Art, because she can’t believe he was going to agree to them slipping Raylan a mickey. He’s hurting and that would just be a complete violation of what little trust that Raylan did have.

She picks up the other chair and puts it quietly down next to Raylan. He’s sitting there, slumped down on his spine, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his hat’s tilted forwards, and truly you would have imagined that he’s completely relaxed, except for his hands folded tightly together, and the tension in his face that is palpable.

She lays a hand on his clasped fingers. She wonders how to start, because she knows that Raylan won’t, that whatever else is going on in his head right now, nothing is actually going to force words out of him. Taciturn is Raylan’s way, it’s how he holds himself together.

They have been here before. The last time Rachel didn’t understand, and she made things worse, but this time she knows the keys and the triggers, and she’s finally gotten a little understanding of the depth of Raylan’s battered soul.

So she sits there and she tells him a story, it isn’t about her or Raylan or anyone they know, just something she heard once, and looking at Tim in the bed in front of them, it’s the first thing that springs to her mind.

She really has no idea about passage of time, or even when things start to happen, she only knows that she began by holding on to Raylan, and now he’s holding on to her. His fingers; those long, sensitive, calloused, sure fingers, are wrapped around hers. His grip isn’t too tight, there is something caring about his touch, like he’s handling something fine and precious, and the emotion that sweeps through Rachel at that thought nearly has her tearing up but Raylan needs her strong and steady, more than ever before, so she pulls herself together.

She sits there and talks and holds his hand, and slowly Raylan unkinks next to her. He’s listening, he’s hurting, and devastated and scared out of his mind because he believes that Tim’s injury is directly his fault, but he’s listening to her. Rachel is reaching him.

Tim moans. His eyebrows knit together and there are lines of pain on his face, and there is commotion around them as he starts to wake up.

There’s an opportunity for Rachel to get Raylan out of there. They can deal with everything tomorrow, because right now, he’s wound far too tight. 

It’s strange because she thought she would have had more of a fight, but now that he knows Tim’s awake, Raylan seems to want to slip away. She has a feeling she knows why, but she will put that right with Tim’s help later. They’re a team, Tim and Rachel have finally cracked the code that is Raylan Givens and she isn’t losing that advantage now. They’ve come too far.

She gets them back to Raylan’s small place.

“Hungry?” He’s asking, his voice sounds a bit hoarse and maybe even a little shaky, but he’s asking and suddenly she realizes that she is ravenous.

“Ravenous.”

“Chicken and biscuits.” He says.

She’ll worry about her waistline tomorrow, because right now she is truly craving some of that finger-licking goodness, and perhaps a smile in Raylan’s eyes. She nods.

She flips through the pile of DVDs that Raylan has somehow accumulated. “Salmon fishing in the Yemen?” She says.

“Winona brought it.” He looks confused then for a moment, and she realizes that he’s thinking about things again. She wants to say what about your baby girl? But she gets that he’s trying to sound normal, trying to get his equilibrium back, and she can’t push that right now. But maybe later when they’ve had chicken and sat down and watched a movie that probably makes no sense to him, but is kind of a metaphor for everything.

A film about faith, and fish.

And maybe a little about their situation too.


	6. Making A Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim tells Raylan how it is.

Tim rolls his eyes. “I can’t believe what you just asked me.” He hisses under his breath, but loud enough for Raylan to hear him. “You’ve been married, you’re a father for pete’s sake… not forgetting there’s a trail of cranky blondes from here to Louisville, and probably beyond, yet you are asking ME for dating advice.”

He stares at Raylan as though he’s never seen such a creature before, “who are you and what have you done with Raylan Givens?”

Raylan rolls his eyes in response, and tries not to look ever so slightly pathetic. “I’m asking you precisely because of that. None of that turned out so good, I don’t want to mess this up.”

“Even your daughter?” Tim looks severely disappointed. “You do remember you have a daughter?”

Raylan tries to keep the confusion and guilt out of his face, but it doesn’t work so well.

“What is that? Guilt or constipation.” Tim says snippily, “you really want to impress Rachel? Man up and spend some actual face to face time with your daughter.”

Tim’s right and that should just make Raylan mad and close off their gradual bonding for good. But Tim and Rachel have slipped under Raylan’s defenses and the shut down doesn’t work any more. Raylan’s surprised, because he thought he could just back out at any time just like he used to. But there’s this pang, somewhere down deep in his soul and he can’t punish Tim for being honest.

Tim’s clearly on something of a roll, “you gonna be one of those fathers then?”

“What kind?” Raylan really doesn’t want to hear it, but something is compelling him to stay in this race, even though he’s sure he isn’t going to like the assessment of his character and backbone.

“Sperm donor. Never changes a diaper, never remembers a birthday, leaves their kid miserable and disappointed.” Tim sounds as though he has more than a nodding acquaintance with that kind of father, but Raylan knows better. He knows about the cluster of small round burns on Tim’s left arm, on the delicate skin on the inside of his elbow, and the faint whip marks on Tim’s lower back. He’s never asked, and Tim’s never told.

All that Raylan actually knows about Tim’s father is that he had the grace to die before Tim could get back with a loaded weapon from Basic and shoot him.

Arlo was an asshole, and Raylan had actually shot his father once. It wasn’t anywhere near as fun as he had originally thought it would be. He just knew he didn’t want to be that kind of father to Willa. So best to stay as far away as he could. Before he could hurt her.

Knowing this doesn’t do anything for the burning in his gut every time he thinks of that perfect little being in Winona’s arms.

“Wake up Raylan.” Tim isn’t done. “Before Willa turns up here and shoots you herself.” He gives Raylan a really hard look, one that Raylan is pretty certain he normally reserves for the enemy. “Hell, at this rate, if she does, I load the weapon for her.”

It does hurt that Tim is that disappointed in him. Raylan’s disappointed in himself, but he can’t seem to get past that barrier. He’s going to turn into Arlo if he gets near his daughter, and that he can’t and won’t be.

Rachel wanders back to her desk with a file in her hand, and Tim shoots Raylan a final glare and goes back to whatever he was doing on the other side of the partition.

Raylan picks up the file that’s on his own desk and pretends to study it, while he studies Rachel’s profile. This beautiful, petite, highly competent young woman who really doesn’t need a screw-up like him in her life, who has been let down by an idiot. Raylan thinks that the absent Joe is a moron, letting a fine, intelligent, kind and classy woman go.

It’s not as though Raylan deserves her, but since we never mind having what we do not deserve, Raylan just wants to know if he has a chance. Office politics be damned. He knows he can be professional in the office. And despite one or two instances of Rachel winging it, he knows that Rachel is the consummate professional.

Art will kill him.

Raylan doesn’t fully understand why he is so attracted to her. Just that he is, and after months of figuring that out, he wants to try. When he was hurt, she helped him through it, even though she was hurt herself. When Tim was hurt and Raylan thought he would die and it would have been all Raylan’s fault, Rachel was there to help him through that too.

It’s different with Rachel. She grounds him, she makes him want to be better, to shoot less and think first. He remembers back when they were chasing Rolly Pike, sitting down with the old man at the house, how Raylan coaxed the story out of the old man; he remembers the look in Rachel’s eyes, the warmth of approval, the pride in his accomplishment. Raylan wants to see that look more and more.

It’s different than with Winona. He loves Winona, madly and deeply, but together they are a new wreck, sailing towards the rocks because when it comes down to it, he can’t be what he isn’t, and Winona cannot have him be what he is. They are at an impasse.

Perhaps he could be what he is with Rachel, and she might love him for it. He really wants to find out.

He’s scared of making a mess of it. And Tim’s level of disappointment in him as a father is a revelation too. Raylan takes a look at himself. Self-examination is not something he normally indulges in, and it’s very uncomfortable. He squirms a little at the pictures that are running through his head.

“Raylan… are you okay?”

He looks up, Rachel is standing next to him, a gentle hand on his arm. He doesn’t know what to say, so he just stares at her, knowing that all his defenses are wiped away.

Rachel looks into the hopeful hazel eyes that are staring at her as though she is the last branch before he goes over the cliff. Things that she never thought she would see in Raylan’s eyes. She squeezes his arm.

“Lunch?”


	7. It's Raining Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rachel to the rescue.

Rachel is pissed. Beyond pissed in fact, she gazes down at the ripped leg of her best pantsuit, she is going to kill them. When she can get them out of the mess they’ve gotten themselves into.

Or she rather hopes she can.

It’s pouring down, and she’s laid up in a bush some eight feet from the basement window. Only there’s eight feet of open space between the bush and the basement, and her two idiot colleagues are handcuffed together through a pipe, so she either needs the key or a hacksaw, and she’s pretty certain she’s left her tool kit at home.

Simple. Just scurry across to the window, get it open, climb in, uncuff them and then get the hell out of there. All before Art shows up with the cavalry, the FBI and the ATF, and anyone else from the alphabet soup that wants in on the bust.

And the basement is flooding.

Did they feel they needed another challenge or something?

She carefully squints up at the porch, it appears unoccupied, but she doesn’t have the best angle, and the very last thing she needs right now is to get caught with Raylan and Tim.

The rain is really heavy now, and it provides cover, her grey suit and dark sweater provide a kind of camouflage, she’s taking a chance, she’s left her marshals’ windbreaker and ballistic vest behind, the bright yellow lettering stands out too much. She has her badge and her gun and that is all that she needs. And possibly a pipe wrench, but that remains to be seen.

Rachel scurries across the eight feet of open ground as the rain picks up, gets down on her hands and knees in the pool of water that is already flowing in through the poorly fastened window, and slips in.

They’re there in the corner, they’re cuffed to a pipe, and Raylan is kinda wrapped around Tim in a very strange way. As she moves quickly across the room she realizes that Tim really doesn’t look too good, and Raylan is looking stricken.

Tim is being held up by Raylan, and beneath Raylan’s clenching fingers, Tim’s right shoulder is a mangled mess. The wound looks chewed.

“Dog.” Says Raylan. Rachel frees his hands, and Raylan changes his grip very carefully, pulling the younger marshal hard up against him. He’s shivering himself, cold, but he tries to give what little body warmth he has to his friend.

They’re knee deep in dirty brown water, cold and shocky. Rachel frees Tim from the pipe. She looks around for something that will get them out of the water, neither of them are in any kind of shape to take part in what’s going to happen next. There’s an old washing machine, one of the huge twin tub ones, as she turns to suggest it, Tim’s knees buckle. Despite Raylan’s skinny frame, he’s very strong. Or it could be strength born of fear, he bends, arm behind Tim’s knees and heaves the young marshal into his arms.

At least they are out of the dirty freezing water. Sitting on top of the old machine, Rachel assesses the situation. She could suggest that Raylan takes her Glock. He has seniority, and there’s the question of male pride, but Raylan’s eyes are nearly as distressed as Tim’s, and from the way he’s holding the cocky sniper in his arms, keeping a firm grip on his still bleeding wound, Raylan’s too far out of it to be of much use. Tim’s head is resting on Raylan’s shoulder, his eyes are closed, he almost looks peaceful, except he’s hurting like hell. Dog bite. It’s missed his neck by some infinitesimal measurement that she can’t name, but the holes and the tearing… only Tim’s heavy ballistic vest prevented worse damage.

It’s a hour before there’s a knock on the basement door, and a loud voice asks if they’re decent.

Rachel yells back that they need a bus, that Tim’s in a bad way, she doesn’t mention Raylan. There’s a dried, hard, closed look on Raylan’s face that’s different to anything she’s seen before, and she realizes that she’s seeing Raylan’s fear. He can’t hide it from her.

A lifetime of pulling all his emotions inside, it’s possible he can’t even recognize emotions that aren’t anger or hormones. It goes a long way towards explaining why he consistently makes such piss-poor choices.

They get Tim awake, sort of, and up the stairs, although he’s tottering a bit, and still shocky, and Raylan’s mask slams into place for Art and the ATF who are smug, and the FBI who are just assholes as usual. It’s probably one of the qualities they look for on the application form. Rachel really doesn’t care, she just wants to get Tim and Raylan to hospital, and get them back in their right minds again.

Right minds. Okay, that’s something of a stretch. They were both abused children, they’ve both grown up tough and resourceful, Tim is cooler than Raylan, Raylan’s all heat and flash and flare over. He’s louder than Tim. Even his silence is louder.

Dammit, she loves both of them. Tim like a brother, Raylan… well that’s the sixty-four thousand dollar question. How does she love Raylan? She could count the ways, and dammit they haven’t even slept together, although they’ve been dancing around that one for weeks. 

Raylan’s hands and wrists are bruised and scraped, he has some minor rope burns on his palms, a fight bite on the knuckles of his right hand. He gets cleaned up by a steely-eyed nurse who doesn’t instantly melt at the patented Givens’ charm, which is currently a pale shadow of itself. The haunted hazel eyes haven’t left Rachel’s for a moment.

His hands cleaned, dressed and carefully wrapped, Raylan gets down off his perch. There is something in him that wants to run and hide, but something stronger doesn’t want to be alone. Reaching out and asking for help is not his thing, so he kinda hopes that Rachel can extrapolate.

Either she read him like a book, or she’s taking charge and making decisions. Raylan doesn’t mind. His brain is short circuiting again, decisions can’t be made.

Tim is going to be okay. They’ve stitched him up, after a thorough cleaning of the wounds, he’s doped up to the eyeballs, loopy as hell and making absolutely no sense. A nurse comes in as Raylan and Rachel are trying to calm him a little, sticks something in the iv port, Tim’s eyelids start to droop, and the loopy rambling calms to a mumble.

“Blessed silence.” It’s kind of a risky joke, but Rachel thinks she can justify it. Mostly because Tim is going to be okay.

Raylan snorts, his nose crinkles and the Muttley snicker starts up. It’s a little shaky, but it’s all Raylan.

Rachel bends over and plants a gentle kiss on Tim’s forehead, tiny slits of blue peer at her for a second then the eyes finally close.

She straightens. Turns towards Raylan. He’s holding out his hand. The left, there’s a bandage round it, covering the dressing on his palm. She takes it without hesitation, resisting the sudden urge to squeeze. What she wants to do is kiss it better, but first steps.

They walk together towards the Lincoln which someone has thoughtfully dropped in the parking lot.


End file.
